The Second Age
by Nathan Fraust
Summary: *WARNING: GRAPHIC SCENES* *Inspired by 2-1, by Imogen Heap, Carnival of Rust, by Poets of the Fall, etc.* Post-inFAMOUS 2 Evil Ending: The Beast has cured nearly all of the plague, and humanity is close to extinction. When he awakens Delsin Rowe's latent Conduit abilities, a rebellion ignites that will change the future of both humans and Conduits forever.
1. I: Conduits

I: Conduits

"We've got inco-!"

The soldier's cry was cut short as the barrel of a tank tore his head off, blood fountaining in spurts. His four comrades froze, but only for a second, snapping back to attention as a blast of lightning struck the Needle in the distance, almost in perfect timing with the explosion as the tank crashed into a surface-to-air missile launcher, launching the engineers manning it sky-high.

The squad switched their assault rifles to full auto, and poured round after round into the rapidly expanding wall of metal slugs. They watched in growing fear and resignation, fingers tight on the slick triggers, as their supply of death ran low. Soon, the only things emanating from the gun barrels were the never-ending clicking and the smoke.

The soldiers slowly rose as the air filled with hollow _pings_ from the mass of metal falling in sheets to the wet concrete, punctuated by the sharp _clack_s of the assault rifles dropping. They stood as one, masks hiding the mouth and nose, but not the dead eyes of the hopeless, and waited.

They didn't have to wait long. They saw his eyes first, a light blue glow shining through the dust and mist, then a grin, white as a bone. He took his time, like Aiken said he would, sauntering out of the fog like he had all the time in the world. _Of_ _course he did, _they all mused blankly. _To the victor go the spoils._

His pants appeared next, the left knee jaggedly torn in half, as if someone had taken a pair of scissors while he wasn't looking and half torn, half cut them before he had smashed their skull in, and a pair of battered and shiny-soled parkour shoes. A simple black and white T-shirt over a dark blood-colored long-sleeve, messily tucked in. Tattoos of blood-spattered wolves and horned skulls adorned his forearms, morphing as they traveled up his arms to evil eyes and light green snakes. The five pairs of eyes continued to travel upward, to an ordinary, yet strangely drawing, face: a deep scar on the right side, barely missing the aqua orbs and Joker grin, which disappeared into a disheveled wave of dirt-colored hair, both strange complements to the sheet-white skin of the Demon.

The Demon slowed, eyeing the quartet as his legion filed in behind him. The shuffling slowed as everyone got into position and waited, battle-ready. When silence made its rounds through the ranks, the Demon spoke. "I saw that one of the heads of the Beast seemed wounded beyond recovery—but the fatal wound was healed! The whole world marveled at this miracle and gave allegiance to the Beast. They worshipped the dragon for giving the Beast such power, and they also worshipped the Beast. 'Who is as great as the Beast?' they exclaimed. 'Who is able to fight against him?' " His roaming settled on the second soldier as he said this, and his lips turned up. A silent _ah-a _settled on him, and he strode forward, bullets shifting out of his way as if an invisible wave beckoned them. He stopped in front of the soldier. "What's your name, son?" he whispered, licking his lips.

The soldier's eyes hardened, and he reached up, pulling off the armored helmet. His dark brown eyes stared into the ice-cold flames. "Delsin Rowe, sir," he said, fear shifting into reckless anger. "So, you're Cole McGrath, the old 'Demon of Empire City'." He smirked. "Or should I call you _the Beast_?"

"Call me Cole," the Beast said, smile growing wider. "It's been a while since anyone's had the balls to name me as I was before." He turned to the soldier at Delsin's right. "You're his brother, Reggie, right?"

"Yes, sir," Reggie said, mimicking his younger brother in taking off his mask. "If I may ask, why are you so interested in my brother?"

The Beast feigned surprise. "Oh, I thought he told you." He leaned in close. "Your dear baby brother is a Conduit, or, as a more colloquial term, a Bio-Terrorist."

Reggie's eyes shifted to Delsin's downcast ones for a moment, then returned his gaze. "I don't believe you," he lied.

"Oh, but he is," the Beast reassured him, "and a pretty powerful one at that. I think I can almost guess what his ability is." He turned slightly, and beckoned to the legion. An Asian woman in a pale leather jacket and dark blue blouse marched forward, leading a bald-headed man in tattered prison clothes. Lucy Kuo and Henry Daughtry. The pair stopped in front of the Beast.

"Go on, Hank." the Beast said, motioning to Delsin. "Shake hands."

The man looked at the Beast nervously, then at Kuo, then locked eyes with Delsin and gripped the hand at his side.

:.

Delsin stiffened as Hank grabbed his lightly gloved hand, then the world disappeared in a flash of light, and Hank's life began to flash before his eyes. He could barely comprehend the barrage of images assailing him. He began to see black.

The world suddenly returned in a rush of color. He released Hank's hand and backed away as smoke began to flow across his body. He looked at Reggie, wild-eyed, and then turned to Walker and Stone. They backed away quickly. "No-" Delsin said, thrusting out his hands. A blast of embers shot out of his quickly smoldering gloves and hit the pair full on, blasting them up and back into a row of power lines, in which they sparked and jerked, smoke rising from them, before finally slowing and stopping.

"Reggie-"he said, turning back to his brother, who looked at him with horror. Time slowed as he watched Reggie, the one person he looked up to for guidance and love, raise his Glock and aim it at his own head. "Reg, don't-" he cried.

"I'm so proud of you," Reggie said, sad eyes staring into his brother's fear-streaked own. He pulled the trigger.


	2. II: The Carnival

II: The Carnival

The Beast paced back and forth, half-eyeing the lights of the abandoned boardwalk gleaming in the dying sunset beneath him, trying to keep the voices out.

The legion had left Seattle 3 days earlier, after he had unleashed his power on the population, activating tens of thousands of Conduits.

Small bits of shale and dirt fell off the edge of the cliff, not enough to alert the group of hunters scavenging for supplies in the various restaurants and shops. He paused for a moment, and then resumed his tread. "What have you discovered, Carey?"

Isaiah Carey stepped out of the shadows of the tree-line and kneeled, averting his gaze. "They are animals, my Lord. They drink and fight and curse like the worst rednecks in the Plains. They are of no importance to you."

"And the two among them?" he pressed, eyebrow raised.

"Born _tessararii_, Lord. However-" - Carey winced as the Beast's mouth turned down- "The first man is a bit of a preacher. He leads the group in their evening and morning _salat_, and he seems to be a very devout man."

"Oh? No matter," the Beast said, diverting his full attention to the boardwalk. "No doubt he will be _persuaded_ of my power when I speak to him in person."

:.

Danny Andrews stepped inside the white plastic tent, rang the bell for _salat_, and waited as Mathias, David, and the others filed in. When they all settled down, he bowed his head and body and began: "_Allahu Akbar, Ashadu anna la ilaha illa Allah-"_

As he continued, he sensed a shift in the air as someone entered the tent, but he continued to pray, formulating a question for the newcomer as the words fell from his mouth. Raising his head, he opened his eyes to see a pale-skinned man in a black-and-white T-shirt staring at him. Andrews' mind recoiled in horror, eyes widening. This was the _Marid_, the one who had wreaked so much chaos in the past 36 months. He could feel the power radiating off of him in waves. He cleared his throat, but before he could speak, the _Marid_ whispered: "Where is Allah? Is he here? Is he inside you?"

"Where was he when I lost the love of my life?" he continued, raising his voice so that all could hear. "Hmm? Where was he when I had to kill my brother?"

Andrews remained silent, fear pounding at his heart.

"I'll tell you where he was," the _Marid_ said, eyes narrowing. "He was in the ground, dead. He's been dead for a while, and you know who killed him?" He grinned, an awful gash. "_Me_."

Mathias suddenly rushed him, roaring in rage. Andrews watched, as if in honey, as the _Marid_ calmly unsheathed the katana at his back and slashed at the charging hunter.

The _Marid_ wiped the blackish-red blood from the blade as the head thumped to the ground, then the body. His glowing reddish-purple eyes swept over the frozen mass of doomed souls, stopping briefly on Andrews. His mouth moved, voicing a silent prayer.

The _Marid_ raised his hands, one crimson, one cream, and concentrated, face contorting, becoming a broken and scarred landscape of rock, red lava underneath. He closed his eyes, and let go.

:.

Lucy Kuo waited until she saw the all-too-familiar flash of red on the horizon, then rose and dashed towards it, leaving the sulking, raging mass of Delsin Rowe behind. Her mind was in resigned turmoil. Cole had told her at the very beginning, when they had started out on this journey, he could still hear the voices of the non-Conduits he had killed to save others of their kind. Kuo could only imagine the horror he had felt, knowing that he had been _responsible_ for the deaths of thousands. Oh, he put on a good face in front of the cohorts, but she alone knew the truth, whispered to her night after night, when he awoke in her arms, screaming in agonizing terror. _It would be enough to drive _anyone _mad,_ she mused solemnly.

She reached the boardwalk in minutes, freezing the moist ground into soft frost when she landed. Focusing on the heat she had felt with Cole, Kuo found two bodies, one kneeling, glowing black and crimson, with spots of gold and blue, and the other supine, a reddish black shot with yellow. She ran towards the pair, dashing through the fallen pieces of burnt and rotting wood.

Cole didn't even look up as she entered in a blast of cold, remaining in his kneeling position for a few more minutes. Finally, he stood, turning his head to look at her with bluing violet eyes. "He was… the only one," he said quietly, voice shaking.

Kuo stepped up to him, close enough to feel the quickly dissipating heat that always occurred after he had used his power, and put her left hand on his right shoulder. "I'm so sorry…"

He turned his full body to her, wrapped his arms around her, and lowered his head onto her shoulder as he began to softly weep. Kuo felt the wetness on her skin as the tears struck, then the chill as they froze. She put her other hand on his chin and lifted up his head, watery pools meeting reflective mirrors. They were still for a moment, holding each other's gaze, then Cole bent and kissed her, first on the cheek, softly, then hard on the lips. Kuo closed her eyes, relishing in the moment, the heat. She began to respond, but Cole drew back, a small smile curving his pale, rust-colored lips. "Come on," he whispered, "I have something to show you."

:.

Delsin stared at the hard, rocky ground, jaw working, as he raised his frozen arms for what felt like the thirtieth time in the past half-hour and smashed them down on a jutting piece of shale. He was rewarded with a small crack barely an inch deep, and a burning anger as he vainly repeated the process. He paused for a moment as a mocking voice rang out: "What's the matter, D? I thought you guys could get out of anything."

Delsin turned his head to see Abigail Walker leaning against a pine, a sneer on her face. He sighed, and said, "What do you want, 05174?"

"Not much," she said, shrugging and puffing out her lower lip, blowing a strand of neon pink hair out of her eyes. "Just wondering, what ever happened to Brent? Hmmm?" Her eyes narrowed.

Delsin shuddered and looked away as he remembered the bodies jerking like puppets on the sparking black powerlines. "I didn't mean it," he whispered, almost to himself.

"What was that?" she asked, turning her head and holding her rock-encased arms up to her ear. "You said you 'didn't mean it'? Well, too bad, so sad, you did it anyways. Besides," she continued, lowering her arms, " Brent was still on the needle, right? You don't need to lie, I know he still had withdrawals and hangovers, just like we used to when we were younger." Abigail looked away, towards the shining waters of the bay. A pained expression passed over her face for a moment. "Damnit," she muttered.

"I'm sorry," Delsin said softly. "I lost someone, too."

"Save it, D," she spat.

:.

Kuo gaped, amazed, as she and Cole walked slowly towards the towering carnival sign, marveling that the oranged _Edward A. Paul Memorial_ marquee still stood. She tore her eyes away to see a gleaming carousel directly ahead of the pair. Eyes widening, she looked at Cole questioningly.

He smiled, teeth glinting in the electric light, as he explained: "They had passed through here yesterday, stripped everything to rods. I fixed it up, just for us."

She smiled back, for the first time in forever, happy. "Thank you," she said as she laid her head down on his shoulder.

_8 Hours Later_

Cole stroked Lucy's back gently with his knuckles, gazing at a small, round scar on her right shoulder. She stirred, placing her hand over his. He smiled softly, gave her a quick peck on the neck, and rose from the king-sized bed, watching as she sat up, her hair a mess. "We should get back," he said, pulling on his long-sleeve, then his T-shirt.

"Mmh, 3 more minutes?" she pleaded, grinning. "It's not like the world will end."

He smirked, and crawled onto the bed. "No, I guess not," he murmured as their lips met. They continued for a few more minutes, Kuo giggling as Cole's rough stubble scraped her chin, then Cole stiffened as a stray thought streaked across his mind: _Dammit, how does McGrath expect us to _live_ if we keep hiding in the shadows?! We can take the Raven Guard head-on, Beast or no Beast!_ He recognized the thinker as John Levy, one of the lesser _clinici_ in the legion, and a bit of a rouser.

Kuo noticed the momentary freeze, and asked, "What's wrong?", eyebrows furrowing.

"Levy's acting up again," Cole growled, eyes darkening into purple. He pushed off the bed and reached for his pants.

Sighing in frustration, Kuo swung her legs out of the bedsheets and started to dress. "Y'know, you could just deal with him _later_," she suggested.

"This isn't a game, Kuo," he snapped, swiveling his head to look at her. "I can't just press pause and start over. Believe me, if I was able to, I would have already done it."

"And then what," she questioned, eyes alight with cold anger, jacketed arms crossed over her light blue T-shirt, "you would _abandon_ us? You would abandon _what we have_?!"

"No, Lucy-"

"No, of course not!" she retorted. "You would just try to make things better, better for all of us."

"That's not what-"

"I cannot _believe_ you!" she shouted, eyes shining. "You need to decide _right now_, Cole! Who are you doing this for, me and our kind, or _her_ and her filth?! And don't you dare think I don't know about the _picture_."

Cole froze, shell-shocked and riddled by turmoil. _She knew?_

"Exactly what I thought," she said, conflicted eyes staring at his grief-stained pair. She turned and dashed out the open motel window.

Cole sat down hard on the bed. As the tears began to slip down his nose, the anger rose, a searing wave of black that ran down the length of his body, back up again, and into his arms. Twisting suddenly, he blasted the cherrywood drawer across the room into smoldering splinters, then turned and slashed at the oak rocker. The rocker teetered, as if unsure of its sudden uselessness, then fell forward, legs split across the middle.

Turning back around, he strode forward, kicked the door off its slowly rusting hinges, and leapt out into the open air. Drawing his katana, he stabbed downward, and as the blade, engorged with flames and sparks, slipped into the concrete like soft butter, a wave of crackling energy arose and dashed across the fairgrounds, destroying the bright, shining carnival he had resurrected.

He sagged for a moment, spent. As he was about to push himself back up to his feet, he sensed a maelstrom of emotion a few dozen miles away. Pressing in slowly, he heard one thought, one thought that knocked the wind out of him: _Please, Cole, don't leave us. Don't leave our child._


	3. III: Salted Grounds

III: Salted Grounds

Lucy stepped numbly through the forest, oblivious to the dawn, ignoring the predators and prey which skirted her path. _Why, Cole?_ she cried out, alone in her thoughts. _Why would you do this to us? This is no place for a child,_ especially_ not one of our own making._

Gazing up through filmy eyes, she caught sight of a pinkish-white opening in the thick crush of maples and poplars. Pushing herself to go harder, Lucy scrambled over fallen trunks and stumbled on smooth stones. She reached the light in minutes, breaking through the wooden bars.

Lucy saw that she was on a small headland overlooking Puget Sound; the dilapidated ruins of an old Salish coastal town stretched out before her, extending for miles down the shoreline. Gasping in exhaustion, she bent over, hands on her knees, to catch her breath, then slowly straightened and began to make her way down the cliff face.

:.

The Beast, distracted by thoughts of Kuo and what he had last heard from her, barely heard the flap of his pavilion entrance lift, then fall gently, but he did feel the chill rush of air. Glancing up from the papers strewn about his desk, he saw Mark Slater leaning against a support pillar, gray-brown eyes staring at him blankly. "What is it, Slater?" he asked.

"We've detained Levy, my Lord," Slater said, poker face betraying no stray satisfaction over the custody. "He is waiting for you on the _crux_."

The Beast bowed his head, musing over the matter at hand for a moment. Then he unfolded his legs and rose, thus dismissing Slater from the pavilion. Slater kneeled, then rose and retreated, the Beast following close behind.

The sunlight stung his eyes as he squinted, the _castra_ coming into focus before him. Jagged stone and wood barracks, forced up from the ground by _fabri_ acting on the instructions of their assigned _architecti_, stretched out for tens of thousands of miles, as far as the eye could see. Thousands of Conduit _milites_ clogged the _via praetoria_ and _principalis_, forcing some to resort to flying or teleportation to get to where they needed to go. The Beast heard the faint sounds of yells and screams from the multiple _campi_ surrounding the _castra_'s stone walls as thousands of _equites_, _centurions_, and _milites_ faced off against each other in pairs or groups and sparred. He also faintly sensed thousands of scavengers picking the surrounding woods clean for food and supplies. The only person he didn't sense was Kuo.

Sighing, the Beast trudged after Slater, ignoring the Conduits who stopped and bowed their heads as he passed, dully noticing the parting of the river of lives as Slater forged forward.

Passing the granite fortifications and watchtowers of the _praetoriae portae_, they eventually reached the end of the stream: a large, whispering circle had formed around a barren patch of earth, which, in the center, contained three things: a roughly-shaped human-sized _crux_ made out of orangish-red, rusting iron, and its inhabitant, John Levy, a groaning black, red, and blue lump of a Conduit, whose arms, legs, and chest were colored a pale yellowish-green as his healing powers struggled to stave off the infection and bleeding from the bruises and gashes that streaked across his body, courtesy of the numerous beatings he had received from Jonathan Grey, who stood off to the left, juggling crystalline _tantos_ in his salt-encrusted hands, shifting to alleviate the bulkiness of the pale, blunt calluses he had formed over his knuckles.

The circle fell silent as the Beast and Slater stepped out into view. Grey glanced their way for a brief moment, then fell back into his routine, a smirk on his face, as the white gauntlets which held Levy in place slowly shrank, eliciting an agonizing scream from the latter.

The Beast stared at the sweating, bare-chested traitor for a few seconds, then averted his gaze, lifting a hand and gesturing. Slater bowed, rose and retreated to Grey's side, a small grimace on his face.

The Beast strode forward, drawing his blade, and slashed at Levy's bindings. Severed from his bond to the scarlet _crux_, Levy fell heavily, uttering a short gasp of agonized relief as he landed, and lay still for a moment. Slowly, he rose, steadying, and looked the Beast full in the face. His jaw worked for a moment, then he spat at his former Lord, a black, gooey mass of bloody saliva falling on the Beast's scar.

The Beast reached up and wiped away the slime, then flipped his katana over and thrust it at Levy. "Do this," he said, eyes purpling, "and I will give you a grave more fitting than you deserve."

Levy glared at him for a moment, then reached out and grabbed the _tsuka_. Raising the blade skyward, he uttered a loud cry and drove it down.

:.

Lucy let go of the edge she was grasping and dropped to the ground with a small _umph_. Rising, she ran forward and crouched under a skeletal pair of bushes,careful to not get her jacket caught on a stray branch, and caught sight of the blackened logs of a decomposing longhouse. Breathing as softly as she could, Lucy stepped forward slowly, head whipping back and forth, then ran to the fallen wall and took cover. She was about to break down the crumbling wall when she heard a piercing howl, and froze.

A pair of shining golden eyes appeared in the black, and as the beast menacingly growled at Lucy's wall, a beam of moonlight engulfed it, illuminating the silvery-white snarl of a strange, black-as-coal— Lucy couldn't think of anything else— wolfman. She gasped as the demon suddenly disappeared in a flash of silver light, then whirled around as she heard a bark behind her; extending her open palm, which quickly blackened and began to emanate white mist and frost, Lucy fired blindly. She heard a short yelp, then a cacophony of howls as wolves began to pour out of the surrounding forests. All of them had glowing eyes and matching red snarls. Shivering with fear, Lucy closed her eyes and focused; turning her fear into burning rage, she prepared to release.

A hand suddenly grasped her shoulder and yanked her backwards, through the decaying wall, and hoisted her up into the air. Lucy gasped in terrified amazement as she looked into the cold sapphire eyes of a young, darkly tan-haired young woman. The wolf-woman growled at her for a second, exposing keen, moon-colored fangs, then paused with a short whine. She slowly set Lucy down, and motioned at a chipped black-painted bed frame beside them. Lucy gratefully sat down on the edge, heart thudding in her chest, and eyed the wolf-woman as she slowly finished shifting back into her human skin. "Thank you," she muttered, rubbing her throbbing neck and shoulder, "for not killing me."

"I would've," the woman replied, a scowl on her face, "but I'd rather not be on the Beast's bad side." She motioned towards Lucy's abdomen.

_How-_ Lucy wondered for a moment, before realizing. "Is it-"

"I don't know," the woman interrupted, scowl deepening, "and that's what bothers me. It's like-" she paused, and made a few random gestures in the air- "it's like it's part of the earth, if I can say that. I can't tell if it's one of the Powerless or not."

Lucy grimaced as she heard that word. _Powerless_. _It has to be one of us, _she thought with frantic terror. _It _must_ be_.

"So, you going to let me go back?" she asked.

"One more thing," the woman said. "When you get back, find Delsin Rowe. I need you to deliver a message to him."

"Sure," Lucy said cautiously. "What's the message?"

"Tell him that Esther Ridgeway says hello."

:.

The Beast rocked back on his haunches, exhaling as the streams of pulsating energy dissipated into nothingness, along with the consciousness of their former owner. He stared at his hands for a moment, feeling a crawling sensation in his palms, watching the verdant waves rise and fall into synch with the beat of his heart. Pressing his hand into the blood-soaked earth around Levy's corpse, the Beast released a short burst. For a few moments, nothing happened, then, out of the corner of his eye, the Beast saw a crimson-black droplet rise and wobble towards him, its brethren following suit, until the air was filled with a fine pinkish-red mist. Amid the gasps from the circle, he sensed fear, despair, and strongest of all, a white-hot wave of anger.

He raised his head and looked directly at the red silhouette of Delsin Rowe, standing at the front of the mob. Grinning, the Beast focused and drew the mist into himself, then rose and waltzed over to Rowe. "Welcome to camp," he said, gritty maroon dripping down his chin. Rowe just looked at him with bloodshot eyes, shaking slightly.

Sighing, the Beast half-turned to Grey. "Salt it," he muttered, then turned back the way he entered and marched forward, the circle scattering in his wake. He had done this enough to know the method: Grey would draw out the corpse's salt from the blood, then he would form six eight-foot spears from the crystals and jam them seven feet into the ground, marking off the area as _exsecrabilis_.

The Beast's mind soon strayed to Rowe, and he mused, hand on his chin, as he walked, over the young Conduit. _He surely hates me_, he thought, _but he wouldn't _dare_ challenge me out in the open._ He remembered feeling the agonizing fear that seeped from the former in gushes, then the rage as he found someone to direct it towards: the Beast himself. He recalled the first time they had met, four days ago. Suddenly, the Beast felt a strange stab of something that had nearly faded from him entirely: dread.

**Author's Note: Well, here's Chapter 3. Sorry it took so long, but hey, today's my birthday, so why shouldn't I share my good cheer with you guys? :) Anyways, please, read, review, and enjoy. **

**PS: I may do a slight diversion in Second Son, since, IMO, the story could have been _much_ better, so expect a new chapter in the next month or two, hopefully.**


	4. IV: Dirty Needles

IV: Dirty Needles

Delsin grunted as he landed on the rough gravel, head digging into the thousands of small pebbles and shards that made up the ground of the _Campus Martius_. _That actually hurt a little,_ he mused as he shifted his neck to see a brilliant light in front of him. The smoke Conduit brought his cinder-encased arms up to his face as a flurry of shining silver splinters embedded themselves into the gauntlets, gritting his teeth as some needle-sharp ends pierced through to his forearms and elbows. _Yeah, now _that_ hurts a _lot_._ Hearing an elated war cry that rose above the clamor and ring of exchanged shots and blows, he lowered his shielding to see Kiran Smith launch into the air off of a whitish-golden spire, a savage grin on his darkly-tanned face, as the bluish-grey vines between the pair retracted, leaving behind a crater of pebbles and broken earth.

Delsin quickly rolled to the side and dashed away as Smith dropped like a meteor toward his former resting spot. He felt the impact, like a huge, molten metal hand, slap him in the back, and he flew through the air, yelling in enraged agony when he hit the ground and skidded to a halt, needles shredding through his arms, elbows, and gauntlets like cheese. _He's going to _pay_ for that,_ Delsin resolved grimly. He shifted up to a crouched position and focused, a smoky, obsidian hunting knife appearing in his gloved left hand, a greyish-black quartz spear forming in his right, as he spotted Smith dashing towards him, legs shining in the early morning light.

Delsin waited until the wire Conduit was nearly upon him before he hefted the spear and lobbed it at his chest. Smith slowed and threw his arms up; the ground shivered for a moment, then twin rivers of glinting metal strands shot up. He crossed his arms, and the streams mimicked the command, forming a thick bramble of a wall, which accepted Delsin's lance like a loving friend, bending, but not breaking, under the weight.

Delsin was already moving forward, dashing forward through the stressing wall and behind Smith. He turned around and grabbed the wire Conduit by his tarnished hoodie; yanking him close, the smoke Conduit rested the obsidian shard on his throat.

Smith swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "Best t-two out of three, m-mate?" he stammered with forced cheeriness.

Delsin sighed, releasing his sparring partner's mud-encrusted hood. "Maybe some other time, K.S. Got something to do first."

Kiran turned around, eyebrow cocked. "Oh, _really_? Let me guess: pinkish-brown hair, military jacket, athletic pink skull T-shirt, maroon short skirt, black torn leggings, and boots?" He grinned as he said this.

Delsin grinned right back, shaking his head and chuckling. "Sure; why do you ask?"

" 'Cause she's right behind ya, _dumbass_," a mocking, distinctly familiar voice piped up behind his back.

Delsin groaned, clapped Kiran on the shoulder, and twisted to see Abigail, arms crossed in front of her pink skull, right leg tapping the ragged ground, and a smirk on her face.

"Hey, Fetch," he said. He twisted his head back to Kiran, but the wire Conduit was already backpedaling away from them, smile threatening to split his face.

"I'll let you two lovebirds have your little spat for now, but _I will be back_," Kiran said in his best Arnold Schwarzenegger impression, then he wheeled around and shot out of sight off a steely-blue shoot.

Delsin sighed, then swiveled back around to find Abigail staring at him, eyes narrowed. "Pretty bad, huh?"

"Ya," she said flatly, "he's no Anthony Ingruber, but…" She shrugged. "So, ready to get your ass kicked?"

"Thought you'd never ask, Laser Girl," he quipped, smile on his face and body tense.

:.

The Beast knelt on the rough granite walkway that ringed the wall and peered at the small cloud of dust that marked the training cohorts. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, then, the hurried admonishments of the Conduits rushing around him fading to the slow pulse of life, he extended his mind towards the fighting masses. Flitting from one to another, the Beast took note of the surface thoughts of his subjects, smiling grimly when he encountered dissidents. _All the more to weed out_, he reflected, recalling the agonized, resigned face of Levy as he forced the katana through himself, the hate slowly draining out with the hot crimson. _I'd rather be Caesar than a Pompeian fool._

The Beast tensed as he felt a familiar, smoldering rage, fear shooting through him, and paused on the feeling. _Delsin Rowe._ The smoke Conduit didn't even register the soft intrusion of another mind into his own, so intent was he on overcoming his sparring partner. The Beast moved on for a moment, to the slow, serrated, sarcastic anger of Abigail Walker. He thought back to the first time he saw her, a week before then, as a ragged, brown-haired young woman with a sharp bite and pained thoughts. _Another dangerous one,_ he'd noted, and he kept her in the corner of his mind ever since.

_These two are _bound_ to be trouble,_ the Beast surmised. After a moment, he decided to watch their little match. He blinked twice, then settled on the rough stone, crossing his legs, as the tangle of bodies spread out before him shifted into blueish-white, steel-grey, and blackish-red silhouettes. He squinted at Delsin and Abigail. _Let the show begin._

:.

Delsin brought up his shifting grey shield as Fetch shot a steady laser beam of maroon neon at him. The shield blocked the attack, but the young Akomish Conduit could feel the heat coming off the spot where the beam hit. He tossed out a ball of sulfurous ash as the relentless neon Conduit started charging her next attack. Delsin heard her start coughing as the grenade detonated, spreading sulfur and ash everywhere. He tossed his shield aside, ignoring the blackened shards of basalt that flew everywhere, and dashed towards Fetch, who was already beginning to catch her breath as the cloud of black and yellow dissipated. He was about to grab her when she caught her breath, looked up, and ran away in a burst of light.

"Shit!" Delsin cursed. He looked around, trying to find Fetch, when he was suddenly hit in the back by something. He flew through the air, breaking apart as he hit the edge of the crater Kiran had made with his lead vines. Reforming quickly on his back, he groaned, and sat up, looking to where he had been thrown from. Fetch was standing a few feet from where he'd been thrown, a glint in her eyes as she held up her hand and drew a stream of purplish-red from the air.

Delsin dashed out of the way as Fetch started firing short bursts of neon at the crater. The bolts exploded on impact. Fetch tossed a few neon caltrops at the area near where Delsin materialized and, whipping out a wicked-looking dagger from her jacket pocket, rushed at him, hopping over her little traps like a demented military brat on a Tron pogo stick.

Fetch swept Delsin off his recently-materialized feet and clambered on top of him, knees pinning his arms to the ground. Holding her weapon at his throat with a firm grip, she leaned in close to the smoke Conduit, and said in a harsh tone, "So, what's it gonna be, D? Off with a warning, or with a head?"

Delsin struggled to raise his arms up, and managed to get them one inch or so off the ground before Fetch stamped down on it again, sending a fresh wave of pained embarrassment through his body. He looked her square in the eye, then turned away, cheeks red. _I'm so sorry, Reg._

Fetch dug the blade in a little deeper, drawing a tiny trickle of blood. She grinned as Delsin grimaced and moaned quietly. "Well, by your silence, I take it you're going for the latter." She raised the dagger with both hands, eyes bright with lethal joy.

Delsin, adrenaline coursing through his veins, felt the world slow to a crawl as the blade descended, dawn glinting off its innocent facets. As if he was just a spectator, he watched his hands wrench free of their prison under Fetch's legs and grasp her wrists.

:.

The Beast blinked. He rose from his kneeling position to see Delsin Rowe get knocked down by Abigail Walker, then catch her wrists as she attempted to stab him in the throat. _Oh, no._

:.

White. Delsin twisted around, trying to catch a glimpse of where he might be, then yelped, ducking, as a blur of grey and pink shot past his head. He looked back for a moment, trying to see what that was, then yelped again, cursing, as a blueish-white blur flew by, ruffling his rag-tag hair. He turned around, and, seeing yet another blur, this time a sickly green, coming at him, prepared to grab onto an edge. Delsin dashed towards it as it drew near, and clutched at an end, his fingers gripping it like a corpse.

"Oshitoshitoshitoshit," he breathed as his "ride" flew at impossible speeds, barely dodging black walls that popped up like Whack-a-Moles. He thought he saw a flash of color on the horizon, and squinted, trying to see what it was. Delsin suddenly felt the thing beneath him shudder and start to slow, and began to loosen his death-grip from the edge. Abruptly, the thing halted, and Delsin was tossed into the air, flying forward like a superman. Just before he hit the ground (if it could be called that), he caught sight of a streak of pink hair. _Fetch._ Then it all when black.

:.

Delsin groaned as he saw white all around, rolling over and pushing himself to his feet. He was _still_ stuck in Limbo, and it was probably all Fetch's fault.

He looked around for her, and caught sight of a hurricane of color a few yards away. Delsin tried dashing towards it, but instead, his vision sharpened and the storm got a little bigger. He stopped and looked at his hands. Light was dancing on the surface, bright pinks and blues. As Delsin watched, the lights subsided, leaving a tingling, pins-and-needles feeling in his palms. _Huh,_ the Conduit thought, that's _new._ He tried it again, with the same result.

"Well," he muttered to himself as he glanced at the hurricane, "guess I'd better go see what that's about."

:.

Delsin gaped, mouth wide open, as he slowed to a stop a few feet away from the hurricane, which, he now saw, wasn't a hurricane at all, but, rather, a maelstrom of images twisting and spinning at intense speeds. Catching a glimpse of pink in the center, he tried to run past the images, but was knocked onto his back. Getting up again with a grimace, Delsin looked up. The storm ended a few yards up, slanting the higher up it went.

Delsin took note of the slower speeds of the higher images, then ran back a few feet, and, crouching, dashed forward, leapt into the air, and hit the images running. He hopped over the spaces between images, and ran up the side of the storm. Spotting a small opening at the top of the storm, he angled himself at it and pushed forward.

Suddenly, he was airborne. Twisting his head, Delsin saw a mess of brownish-pink hair directly below him. His vision tinged with red, and, gathering light around his clenched fists, Delsin let gravity (or whatever the hell counted for gravity in Limbo) take over, dropping like a nuke.

Delsin was about to hit Fetch _hard_ when her head suddenly jerked up. He tried to grab her, but she slipped out of his reach and he slammed into the ground, sending out a ripple of light. As he rose up on unsteady feet, he noticed Fetch starting to get up a few feet away. He ran over and grabbed her wrists. As soon as his bare skin touched hers, black.

Then, suddenly, he was in a room he'd never seen before, a kitchen with linoleum countertops and metal sinks. Delsin started to look around, but everything began to blur and run together, like the street art he used to do before getting in the DUP, so he stopped. He tried to rest his hand on the counter, but it just fell through, leaving streaks on the pale tile.

Delsin shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and started walking around the island in the middle of the room, towards the door, when his foot hit something solid.

He looked down to see Abigail sprawled out on the floor, cheeks wet and clothes torn, arms clumsily covering herself. Next to her was Brent, out cold, and a small, clear, empty plastic baggie with a needle with a blackish-red tip, a pill bottle, and a vial half-full of some sort of green liquid.

Delsin blanched. Abigail, the one and only person he had ever managed to put away in Curdun Cay, the one he'd thought would have killed anyone who got near her, had been assaulted. He sat down hard on the quickly-fading wooden floor and gripped his head as the image of Brent, the drugs, and the kitchen melted away, running down like they'd been spray-hosed.

He stared at his feet for minutes, when he heard soft sobbing in front of him. Delsin looked up to see Abigail curled up into a fetal position, a pool of tears next to her head.

Delsin reached over and was about to grasp her shoulder reassuringly when he paused, thought better, and withdrew.

"His name was Killian Czalov," she said after a moment. "The guy who…"

"Yeah. Look, Fetch, I'm so _sorry_. If I'd known what'd happened to you, I would've-"

"You would have _what_?" she laughed bitterly. "The damage had already been done; you just made it worse. You and- Brent." Her voice choked up.

Delsin was silent for a moment.

"He was the one who turned me in, y'know?" Her voice turned cold, biting. "I trusted him, thought he'd value _family_ more than some stupid _freedom and security_. And what did he do? Send me to some freezing hellhole in the Rockies!"

Delsin still said nothing.

Abigail uncurled and sat up. Somehow, her clothes had been fixed, good as new.

"Anyways, it looks like you're my only 'family' now, D."

"Delsin. Just… call me Delsin."

"Delsin? What kind of a name is _that_?"

"An 'old Western' kind of name," he snapped. "Now, can we please get out of here? I rather like my own body, thank you very much."

"Well, fine, Smokes, whatever you say."

"Delsinnnnnnn!" he said, voice trailing, as a strange force yanked him back, out of the dark and into the light.

:.

The Beast strode through the _Campus Martius_, his subjects parting before him. As soon as he landed from jumping off the wall, all sparring had ceased, giving way to a tense calm.

Waving his arm to ward off the settling dust, he blinked, seeing the world around him shift to deep crimson, suffocating sapphire, and stark black and white. Bodies shifted to the side, giving him a wide margin. He heard snatches of conversation within the throng:

"Why's he come out here? He's never deigned to give us this _honor_."

"I bet it's about that DUP he got a few days ago."

"Look at him, strutting about like some damn housecat."

"I hear he and Kuo had some sort of fight; I haven't seen that frigid bitch in at least a day or two."

"Really? Hey, she used to be thinner, right?"

"I guess… Why'd you ask?"

"Well, she has a bit of a paunch now, in case you didn't notice."

"Huh, that's weird."

"Got _that_ right."

The Beast took notes of the speakers: Markus Arena, Benjamin Hayes, Kim Teague, Lucius Jackson, and Mary Vincent. _I'll deal with them later,_ he thought to himself with grim determination. Right now, he was focused on-

His foot caught on something. The Beast nearly sprawled on the ground, but he managed to catch himself. He looked back with a furious expression, which shifted to shock and terror as he saw Fetch and Delsin's bodies lying on the ground. Their hands were locked in a death grip with each other, expressions of fierce, bloodlusty joy and remorseful agony frozen on respective faces. _No,_ he thought. _No, no, no, nonononono-_

But even as his mouth began to move, repeating his mind's message, Delsin and Fetch released each other. Both got up hurriedly, Delsin grimacing as the small cut on his neck stretched, scab breaking, and began to trickle blood, and staggering away. Fetch glanced at him, then back at the Beast, who had by now clamped his mouth shut, eyes blazing with purple fury.

"I-" she began.

The Beast strode up to her and grabbed her by the throat. Lifting her into the air, he started to squeeze.

"Do you have _any idea what you've done_?" he asked her in a deceptively calm voice. "We don't try to kill our own, Ms. Walker. Ever."

"I'm… sorry," she choked out.

"You're… sorry," he repeated slowly. "You know, I don't think I believe you." He gripped her throat tighter, ignoring her gasps for mercy or the feeble scrambling of her hands on his arm.

Her eyes fluttered, and were about to close when a hollow voice rang out over the rage. "Let her go."

The Beast swiveled to see Delsin marching towards him, eyes black and hands clenched into bloody fists."No," he replied coldly.

"Let her go, or so help me God-"

"God?" the Beast scoffed, keeping his upraised arm still.

"Yeah, so help me _God_, I'm going to make you _wish_ she'd kill me."

Amid the gasps from the gathered sycophants and rebels at the blatant death threat, the Beast kept his face a mask of arrogant contempt. Inside, however, his heart pulsed a lonely yellow beat. He looked up at the neon Conduit. Her eyes were wide open, and fixed on Delsin.

He looked between the two for a few moments, until realization dawned on him. The Beast released Fetch, who tumbled to the ground, wheezing and coughing, and walked over to Delsin, who'd started to slow.

He stopped a few feet away and said to the mimic Conduit, "Really? You'd _really_ try and kill me?!" Looking away for a moment, the Beast lifted his hand to his mouth and chuckled quietly. He twisted back to Delsin and looked him over. His eyes were still black with cold fury, grey-blue plaid shirt stained purple-black with the vicious cuts and bruises from sparring, and dark grey hoodie browned with dust and dried blood.

The Beast gritted his teeth for a moment. He had no choice but to punish or kill Rowe now, but what sort of message would that send to the troops? He obviously couldn't let him go, lest he look weak, but he could feel the golden terror emanating off the crowds in waves. They _feared_ him, what he might do to them; he could see it in their eyes, hear it in their thoughts. He paused, hand rubbing his stiff stubble and gazing at the mimic Conduit's dusty shoes and jeans, as he thought.

_Cole?_

The Beast jerked his head up and to the right, past Delsin, towards the woods. He began to move forward numbly, blind to everything except that echo, that beautiful, silent echo. _Lucy._

He moved faster, shoving the people who got in his way. He got to the edge in minutes. Breaking through into the dew-laden plains, the Beast looked around frantically. _Lucy, where are you?! _he silently screamed to the cricket-infested wind. _Lucy, please! Please come back to me! Come back…_

He fell to his knees in the middle of the tall grass, and began to moan, a slow rumbling that quickly grew to a crescendo, as he lifted his face to the sky. Tears streaming down his face, the Beast screamed a wordless stream of sound, agony and rage fused in one soul-chilling melody.

After what seemed like hours, his voice ran hoarse, and he collapsed, mute and dead inside. He could still numbly feel the fear washing over him, but he didn't care. He was alone now. Alone, forever.

**Author's Note: Sorry, sorry, sorry I haven't been able to get this out to you guys for the past (almost) 2 months. I'm on summer break, but I'm wrapping up a dual-credit speech class at the same time, so... yeah, general summer (or semester) excuses. Anyways, Read, Review, and enjoy!**

**-Nate**

**P.S: If a few of you guys could go and read the first chapter of my Uncharted 4 story and review it, I would be indebted. Thank you.**

**P.P.S: I was going to bring Kuo back in this one, but since I posted this at 11, I think I'll write her in next time.**

**P.P.P.S: I actually got to go to Seattle and meet someone from Sucker Punch a few weeks back; don't know if anyone on the team has read this or coNTROL, but fingers crossed.**


	5. V: Stay

**Author's Note: Sorry, sorry, sorry for the 3-month wait! It really makes me feel bad when I have all these tens of thousands of people (specifically 21,732 or so, so about 0.0003 percent of the Earth's population) counting on me for entertainment and/or mental stimulation! Now, on to updates!**

**So I'm in college now, in case any of you have been paying attention to my profile. I think I'll only be able to work on my stories on the weekends and Friday afternoon, so next chapter'll come WIF (when it's finished). Also, I'm in the process of making an 8tracks playlist for the story, so I just have to figure out what the next 3 or so songs are for this, and then you'll have a soundtrack-in-progress.**

**Okay, enough of that. Read, Review, and, as always, Enjoy!**

**-Nate**

V: Stay

Delsin was cutting into the rabbit with a neon dagger when he felt a hand rest uncertainly on his bare shoulder for a moment. He sucked in a breath as the rush of blue and pink images came over him again. "Hey," he whispered.

"Hi," Abigail murmured, releasing him and sitting down on the tree stump with a sigh.

He looked back to see her staring at the rabbit with a look like that of a hungry wolf. He heard her stomach growl for a moment before she wrapped her dusty green-coated arms around her abdomen. She looked up at him with an embarrassed grin.

"Just a second." Delsin turned back to the job at hand, which he finished in seconds, lavender-striped hands skinning and butchering at the speed of light, then stretched his hand over the small fire he had started to keep warm and let the vapors and hot ash dance over his hand for a moment before absorbing them. He picked up a hind leg, held it in his left palm for a moment as he breathed the smell of blood and apples in deep, then ran his right hand over it slowly, smoking the meat through in seconds with black fire. He handed it to Abigail. "Careful," he warned, "it's still a bit-"

"Whatever," she interrupted, tearing into the firm leg meat savagely. Almost immediately after, she spat it back out, cursing. "Shit! The hell, D?"

"I told you it was hot," he pointed out with a chortle.

"Yeah, but still… ow."

"Here, let me see," he said in a concerned tone.

He reached for her hands, but she drew away, turning from him.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"Yeah," she replied quietly. "Just…" Her breath hitched. "That's the sort of thing my dad used to say."

Delsin nodded, the image of a brown-and-grey haired man with sunken eye sockets reaching out his frail and bony hands filling his mind's eye.

She gave a hollow laugh, turning her head up and to the right slightly. "It's funny, isn't it?"

"What?"

"We've both lost everything. Our old lives, the ones we love. Brent, Reggie." She paused as Delsin stiffened for a split second. "It makes ya feel empty inside, doesn't it? The loss? Like you've got no purpose? No reason for going on living?"

"It does," Delsin murmured. "Goddamn me… it does."

Abigail drew in a shaky breath. "Do you remember what I tried to do the first few months after Brent turned me in?"

Delsin nodded, shuddering at the memory. Abigail's room was filled with scorch marks when they'd barged in that late August afternoon; she was lying on the cold concrete, foaming neon pink and bloody crimson at the mouth and a handful of Prozac and Roxanol clenched in her jerking hands. They'd had to pump her stomach, then they threw her in SolCon. He'd been the one to shove her in.

She'd begged him to kill her as he dragged her towards the concrete box, to end the suffering, the craving. The loneliness. He'd had the power to do it, and who the hell would've stopped him? Yet, for some reason, he didn't. And he still had no idea _why_.

She paused for a moment, face darkening. "I'd been planning that damn thing since the first month, and then you went and screwed it all away. In the days that followed, down there in the dark, I swore to myself that I would kill you the first chance I got. But you took that from me as well."

Delsin nodded somberly. The cut from their spar the afternoon before had healed remarkably well, but still left a small scar, a crescent-shaped shade of brown, and he rubbed it unconsciously for a moment. "If I'd had a choice-"

"We always have a choice, Delsin," she interrupted, hands lacing together. "I could have put my parents out of their misery weeks before they died. _Bang bang_. Simple as that. But I didn't; no, that was Brent. He made his choice, and I made mine."

Delsin opened his mouth to protest, then shut it. _Is it really as simple as that?_ he wondered to himself. _Can you really just _choose_ to do the right thing? Or is it more complicated than that?_

He felt Abigail grab his hands. "I know you think it's difficult to choose, and sometimes it is, but other times, it's not. What you really have to ask yourself is, what. Do. You. _Want_?"

Delsin chewed over her words for a few seconds, then he looked her in the eyes and whispered, "Revenge."

:.

The Beast stared out unblinking at the darkening forest, dusk giving way to one of the blackest night he'd ever seen, or would have seen, if he hadn't been able to see in the dark. He stood rigid, hands at his side, and stared, unmoving, so long that some witless fool might've mistaken him for a statue. And all the while, his mind was fixed on a single thought, one cold blue star in the neverending shadow. _Lucy_.

He did love her; the ache in his chest affirmed that certainty. And yet… and yet she seemed like she felt the same, but she didn't show it. The contradictions drove his stone mind round and round in circles.

A wave of heat and the sour scent of cigarette smoke washed over him, and he turned to see Henry Daughtry standing a few feet away, shivering through his thin brown sweater, even though his arms were alight with black and grey smoke and orange-white flames. Daughtry shrank back as the Beast's revenant eyes glanced at him, through him.

"What is it, Hank?" the Beast asked, voice hard.

"There's someone at the front gate, boss," Daughtry stammered, averting his eyes from his superior's piercing gaze.

Rusty lips parted for a moment, before setting in a grim line. "Take me there."

Daughtry shivered again, from the cold or the command, the Beast didn't know, then started to turn around.

"Hank?" Daughtry froze, petrified.

"Next time you address me," the Beast said in a deceptively neutral tone, "I expect you to call me 'Lord'."

"Y-yes, bo-" Daughtry started to stammer before catching himself. "Yes, Lord."

:.

Cole stared at the person before him, the one person who willingly defied him again and again, and yet the one who he couldn't bring himself to stop.

Lucy shuffled her feet, not meeting his mauve eyes as they inspected her. Her once-pristine white leather jacket was now torn in several places, gritty mud and sand turning the garment the color of old coffee stains. The rest of her clothing suffered the same fate.

_Where were you?_ Cole asked her, the panic subtle underneath the cold fury and anxiety.

She turned her head to the right. _I…_

_Damnit, Lucy!_ he shouted at her. _You can't just- you can't leave just like that! I can't leave the people here and just-_

_What?_ she muttered, weariness and irritation emanating from her. _Just come and find me, bring me home? Bring _us_ home?_

Cole growled, deep in his burning throat. The Demon was coming back up, smashing against the concrete barriers of his mind. He was almost inside, and the possibilities frightened Cole, horrified him.

He had to get them out of here. Before he turned.

Cole stalked towards Lucy and grabbed her arm roughly, ignoring her cries of pain and thought of the one place that could silence the Demon, then closed his eyes and focused. A roaring, like that of a hurricane wind, filled his ears for a few moments, then died down.

He opened his eyes to see a giant shadowed crucifix before him, the agonized form of the Savior outstretched for yards. He lurched back, letting go of Lucy's arm, and dropped to one knee, heaving for breath as the Demon recoiled in involuntary agony, shriveling up into a pinprick of darkness that stuck to his thumping heart like week-old gum to a school desk.

"Cole?!" He could barely hear Lucy's voice over the pulse of blood in his ears.

"Kill me," he whimpered. He turned his head up at the sharp intake of air to see Lucy staring at him in horror, hand outstretched. "Please… please, just end it."

"What are you-" she began, stretching.

"I don't know how long I can hold it back. I can't let it- no, I _won't_ let it kill you and our- our child."

"I- I ca-"

"Yes. You. _Can_, Lucy!" he said to her, staring at her glistening face for a moment. He grabbed her arm and pulled it to his head. "One push. One push, and this will all be over. No more death, no more voices."

"No, no, _no_!" Lucy wrenched her arm out of his grip. She jabbed a trembling finger at him, tears streaming down her face. "You don't get to back out like this! I _need_ you! The_ baby_ needs you! Hell, the troops need you! I am _never _going to be alone ever again!" The temperature dropped with every word she screamed, coating the pews with frost, but neither of them felt it.

Cole began to feel the Demon inside start to recover, and jerked his gaze down to his watched in horrified resignation as the skin began to crack and flake away, crimson and gold welling up between the blackening plates in time with the attacks. As the last fragment of his mind started to break, he looked up at Lucy and shouted, both in mind and voice, "_Run!_"

She turned, but too slow. A black and red hand grabbed her wrist and clamped down. She screamed when she started to hear the sizzling.

:.

Red. All he could see was red.

Cole groaned and sat up, holding his pounding head. _What the hell happened?_ he wondered, then: _Oh, no._

He bolted off the bed he was lying on, barely noticing the pale brick walls of the _valetudinarium primus_, then immediately sat down again as a sharp slice of pain cut through his abdomen and heart. A _medica_ was at his side immediately, though she stood a few feet away. Cole could hear her heart pounding, trying to keep the terror at bay.

"Where- where is she?" he croaked, coughing violently.

"Lord, I think you should-"

"Don't you _dare_ presume to tell me to 'lie down and rest'," he growled, darkness infusing his voice, then stopped. He shoved down the black rage, giving a small shiver at his momentary weakness, and continued: "Tell me what happened."

"Well, you- uh-" she stammered, trying to quell her vast wave of fear. "Um, you came back a few hours ago, with Miss Kuo. You- you dragged her to the _valetudinarium secundarius_ and left her bound to a wall. We've been mostly successful in treating the burns-"

At the last word, Cole crumbled, collapsing in on himself. The tears came, burning like dozens of meteorites breaking up in the atmosphere, slipping through the air as they fell and shattering on the cool stone floor, deafening in sound. Then: _What's the matter, McGrath? Can't handle a little TLC with your lady-friend?_

"You bastard," he muttered under his breath, ignoring the _medica_'s look of confusion. "I swear, as soon as the job's done, I'm taking you _out._"

_Whoa-ho-ho, big boy,_ the Demon sneered in a twisted mockery of Cole's voice. _Aren't you forgetting something? _The voice shifted, to a man equally personal and gut-wrenching. _You made a deal, remember that? At the start of all this, you said you'd get the power, and I get to take the reins for… _special purposes_._

"No. You get control, not-"

_Not what? _the Demon asked, pitch deepening to a guttural snarl. _You have no _idea_ what I can do. I can stick you in a hole so deep you won't even be able to _breathe_. I can take your deepest fears and have them haunt you for so long that you'll be a shriveling shell _if _I let you come back to the land of the living. I _made _you what you are. Don't think _you_ are _ever_ in control._

The Demon receded. Cole let out his pent-up breath through his nose, then, noticing the charred smell of burnt linen, looked down to see smoldering handprints where his hands had been gripping the bedside, skin reforming over the closing cracks. He looked back at the _medica_, who was staring at him in abject terror, mouth open slightly.

Cole breathed in deep through his nose again, then said, "Take me to her."

:.

He drew back the bedsheet that served as a makeshift privacy screen, then stepped in and closed the opening behind him, the wire frame rattling above him. The _medica_ glanced at him, waiting for permission, then hustled the others out of the area when he tilted his head, leaving the pair alone.

Cole drew closer and looked her over, heart dropping and the tears coming back. A patch of light brown lines traced the edges of her sports bra, which was as dark as onyx and smelled of charred skin and burnt cotton. The rest of her shivering back was colored a light pink, spotted with brown. She spasmed for a short while, whimpering in pain, the seizure opening small cracks in the leathery patches of skin. Blood trickled out for a few seconds, before a thin layer of ice formed over the cracks and sealed them shut.

"Lucy…" he murmured in numb horror, reaching for her.

"Get-" she whispered hoarsely, before falling into a coughing fit. Cole heard a crackling sound, low moaning filling the small "room". When she spoke again, her voice was a bit stronger, and full of sadness. "Get away from me."

Cole recoiled, the statement a shotgun blast to the heart. He stumbled back, the tears streaming freely now, and clutched the oak tree-table rooted to the warm earth to steady himself.

"You never had control, did you?" Her voice was full of icy fury. "It _told_ me you don't. I believed you when you said it was just instinct, but you were lying, weren't you? Just parroting what John told you."

"Lucy, I swear-"

"No. I don't want to hear your bullshit about 'I would _never_ have hurt you'." She turned to face him, grunting in pain, and looked at him with accusing eyes. Her face was crusted with frost, a sky blue light pulsing beneath. She held up her free hand in front of Cole, watching his face for a reaction.

The hand itself was fine, able to move just fine, but the wrist… Cole had to fight from grabbing Lucy's hand and trying to bring back the flawless snow-white skin instead of the sickly color of old lace stained in the shape of a shattered hand print.

"He could have killed me." Her voice was blank now, void of any shade of emotion. "He could have torn me to shreds, but he didn't. Why?"

Cole opened his mouth, about to say something, but nothing came out. He shut it and swallowed before trying again: "I don't know."

"Oh, but you do, don't you? In fact, if anything, I'd bet you came to the same conclusion I did: he wants the baby. I don't know why, or how, but he wants it."

Cole swallowed again.

Lucy let out a frustrated, disappointed sigh, then turned back around and pushed herself up and off the bed, stifling her groans. She picked up the fresh change of clothes on the other tree-table and shrugged into them, padded around the side, using the bed for support, then paused when she reached Cole.

Cole looked down at the ground, unable to meet her eyes. "Please… please, Lucy, don't do this."

"You laughed at me, Cole. Mocked me. Told me I was _nothing_."

"No-"

"Yes. I watched you change into that _demon_, but it was all _you_ when you said those things. _You_ did this." He lifted his head. She snorted. "Who's really alive here: you, or him?"

She lifted her hand to pull back the "curtain", but Cole grabbed her injured wrist and held it firm. Her eyes flashed white-blue for a moment, brimming with tears of pain. "Let go of me."

"No. I _love_ you, Lucy. Don't you understand that? I'd rather burn in hell for what I've done than let you or the baby get hurt."

"You've _already_ hurt us, Cole. In more ways than you can imagine."

"Please… I need you." He shattered again, collapsing to his knees, blubbering like an idiot. "I- I can't do this alone. Not without you."

:.

"Goodbye, Cole." Lucy turned around, tears starting to slip out, and limped out of the cubicle, away from the broken shell of the man who loved her.

**AN: Yeah, I went super _dark_ and _weird_ after the Delsin/Abigail bit (speaking of which, which game is that little segment of dialogue between those two based on? PM me your guesses*). Just blame it on "Please Don't Go" and "Change" :)**

**So, anyways, yeah, not much here, just wanted to bring Lucy back. Also, did you know it feels _really_ good to be constantly writing again after a few weeks of not doing it? I _love_ it.**

**-Nate**

**P.S: If you want, you can go read Revelation 13 for a bit of insight into ****h****ow ****I characterized Cole in the story, particularly in this chapter.**

**P.P.S: So, who's the "gut-wrenching" man? Speculation, speculation...**

***-Seriously, would someone PM me? I've been writing fanfics for almost a year now, and not ONCE has a fan-message appeared in my inbox. PM me. I wanna talk to you guys...**


	6. IMPORTANT: Author's Note

Hey guys, this is Nate. If you can spare a few minutes, go and visit my page for an update I made a few days ago.

Thanks,

Nathan Fraust


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